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Life would be much easier if we do not get attached to someone. We see the suffering it brings. But it is a part of us that we rather suffer. I do not think we want to change that and we are willing to go through the suffering as the joy of possession cannot be overlooked. It is human to frame a picture as if it must last a thousand years. We put things away in glass cabinets so that we can still see it but cannot touch it, afraid that it could break. But eventually things become old. Then we realize we need to let go. It is a process, but not an easy one. Sadly the moment we have to go alone.

Why do we have to part while the love is still there? Why do we have to suffer? Why do we have to cry when someone bids goodbye? Why do beginnings have an end? Why do we have to meet only to lose in the end?

There are questions left unanswered, words left unsaid, letters left unread, poems left undone, songs left unsung, loved left unexpressed, promises left unfulfilled.

One of the hardest things to do is saying goodbye and letting go. It is as hard as breaking a crystal -- because you'll never know when you will be able to pick up the pieces again. More often than not, the person who leaves, feel not the pain of parting: it is the person who stays behind that suffer, because they are left with memories of love that was meant to be, a love that was.

We are embarrassed to find ourselves alone. Unfair as it may seem, but that's the way love goes. That's the drama, the bittersweet and the risk of falling in love. After all, nothing is constant but change. Everything will eventually come to it's end without us knowing when, without us knowing how, without us knowing why. And we must forget not because we have to but because we have to.

Sorrows come not a single spy but in battalion. It seems that everywhere you go, everything you do, every song you hear, every turn of your head, every move of your body, every beat of the heart, every blink of the eye and every breath we take is always a reminder of that love. It's like a stab of a knife, a torture in the night. Funny how my whole world becomes desolate when only one person is missing. Just imagine, there are a billion people on earth and yet it seems so melancholic and empty.

I don’t know if it's worth calling an art, but letting go entails special skills sparkled with a considerable space and time. Time heals all wounds but it takes a little push on our part. Acceptance plays a fraction.

Sometimes we have to part because of circumstances beyond our control. We have to suffer if it would mean happiness for others. We have to cry to temporarily let go of the pains. Every beginning has its end like every dawn has its dusk. It's something we can't have power over, something we had to live up.

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